


Cold Water

by illyriantremors



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Depression, Everything hurts basically, F/M, Grief, Platonic Moriel, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/pseuds/illyriantremors
Summary: Morrigan has a bad Christmas with her family and winds up on the rooftop of her apartment building wondering what it'd be like to jump off. Azriel finds her and in the midst of talking her down, the pair discover they have much more in common than they thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While the pairing for this is Moriel, it's meant to read mostly platonic. I suppose there are elements you *could* read as potentially romantic, but these two are more meant to be a sounding board in this fic for bigger issues going on, so I hope that's okay with you all. I'm mostly just trying to work through things.
> 
> Major MAJOR ***TRIGGER WARNINGS*** for SUICIDE, DEPRESSION, AND GRIEF.

By the time Mor slams the heavy metal door to the roof wide, her lungs are already too exhausted to take in the fresh, night air. After an hour walking through it across the city streets, it feels stale now. Dry and empty. But it doesn’t stop her from bolting to the edge of the rooftop and peering over the rail until her eyes can see the concrete several floors below.

_I was standing there. No more than two minutes ago_ , she thinks, staring at the spot outside her apartment building’s front entrance. The spot is empty now, but it doesn’t stop her mind from racing at the thought of how she could get back there faster than she left it behind, if she wanted to. If she only dared...

Mor’s fingers clench against the railing. Her mouth parts and her lungs freeze, aching to cry out, but nothing comes out save a dry heave.

She’d wanted to cry. All the while she’d walked, since the moment she’d left the penthouse flat and didn’t wait for Rhys to catch up as he dealt with her mother’s enraged outburst at her, she’d wanted to cry. Only the fear of someone seeing, of someone knowing the truth about the fool she really was, stopped her. And now that she was alone and free to do as she pleased, of course her body protested. And it ruined Mor to no end.

Full. And empty. So full and empty at the same damned time. Every hour of every single day - starving and grossly overfilled to unbearable ends she never understood.

_Off_ , Mor thinks, shutting her eyes and slinking down against the railing, until the open space between is cut off from stone and she can see the ground no more despite how hard she hugs the rough cut of it. _Off, I just want it all off. No more, no more, no more. I want... I want..._

Her mouth goes dry and her body starts to shake, reviled by the truth she nears.

_I don’t want to be here anymore_.

Finally the truth. And with it goes every shred of dignity or joy or hope she’s ever known.

It feels like dying without ever taking a last breath. Hung perpetually in this state of fighting without desire, decaying without end.

Mor dares to lift her head the few inches necessary to see back over the edge. The faint night breeze kisses her cheek as if knowing what she contemplates as she peers down. _So easy_ , she thinks it would be. _But also impossible_.

A slight scraping noise behind her jolts her where she sits. Panic shoots down her back like an arrow through the night, its prey unprepared for the strike.

_She didn’t close the door_.

And then, right as realization comes, he speaks.

“Morrigan?”

She can’t quite tell whether she’s relieved or terrified that someone has found her. Most days, she secretly craves for someone to notice something’s wrong and ask. To say _something_. But tonight is not one of those times. Not when it’s so painfully obvious where she’s at inside this fucked up head of hers. Not when, she realizes in horror, she’s still hugging the rails half hunched over staring down below.

Her head turns. And Az is standing in the frame of the door, his face half in shadow by old yellow light above him. She can’t tell what his expression reads, but she can see he hasn’t moved since spotting her, can tell by the rigid way his body stopped mid-stride and his hand now holds the door tightly.

_He knows. Fuck. He knows. No one was supposed to know..._

Mor swallows, but can’t quite close her mouth all the way, her lower lip quivering too much.

_He’ll tell Rhys. He’ll tell Cass. Oh fuck Cass can’t - I don’t want him to - I don’t want - don’t want -_

_I don’t want to be here._

Azriel drops his grip on the door as the fear floods her. But rather than rush at her or pull out his phone or do any of the nine million and twenty-seven different options Mor is scared of, he simply drops his hands and regards her thoughtfully.

“What do you want me to do, Mor?”

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t say a word.

No one has ever asked her that question before. So she never bothered contemplating an answer for the impossible moment of if they ever would.

And what does she want? Besides... the obvious. Besides what she has wanted all night ever since her mother broke the dish and snapped at her for ‘dishonoring’ her father’s memory.

The silence stretches on too long and she knows Azriel can tell she’s too lost for an answer. He nods at a spot against the rails, about a clear ten foot shot away from her. “Can I sit?” he asks.

And it’s the calm in his voice that lacks all of the panic she feels or any of the anxiety she doesn’t want him to have that makes her stare at him and nod her consent. Az closes the door behind him softly and walks sure and steady to the spot he’d picked out, sitting down no less casually than as if they’d meant to meet here on any given night and watch the stars.

“You wanna talk about it?”

_Yes -_

_No -_

The answers fight against each other at the same time in the pit of her heart.

Yes, she wants to talk about it. Desperately. However -

“I don’t know how.”

Azriel adjusts his back against the rails and nods, crossing his arms. He looks up at the sky simply, some of his hair - longer in the front than the shorter cut at his neck - falls in his face. “That’s okay. I don’t know how to talk about it either.”

Mor finds her hard grip on the stone slackening for the first time. Does he mean... he doesn’t know how to talk about her? Or _his own_ problems? Regardless, the mere possibility that he might ‘get it’ despite years and years of no one ever understanding is too tempting to pass up.

“My mother yelled at me,” Mor says suddenly. Az looks away from the stars and Mor can see it in his eyes: he’s ready. “And... I realized I no longer want to live.” Az nods, turns back to the sky, and Mor feels her chest decompress. She’s never admitted this to anyone. It’s miserable and freeing at the same time to do it now.

“I -” she chokes. Then forces the words back up in to her throat. “I don’t want to be here every, single, day.”

“Is that why you’re up here?” Az asks, his voice even. “To - jump?”

Mor shakes her head and relaxes against the rails. Now that they’re actually talking about this, she doesn’t feel the unbearable need to look down and look death in the eyes when she can just talk about it to a - Friend? Close acquaintance? - to Azriel instead.

“No,” Mor admits. “That’s the problem. I don’t actually _want_ to die. But it feels like I do. Every day. It feels like life has no point. There’s nothing here that I want.”

Az doesn’t move, but Mor thinks he might be showing some kind of concern from what she can see of his face now that her eyes are adjusting to him in the darkness. Somehow, she always seems to find him in the dark.

“What happened?”

“My mom yelled at me over Christmas dinner-”

“No, I mean,” and Az again looks back to her where the light can catch the smooth planes of his face, pain and understanding and something... something else she’s not sure of flashing there against her. “I mean what _happened_?”

A hole wider than a crater on the moon, deeper than the cliffs buried in the sea, opens wide inside Mor’s heart and spits something out. Something diseased and drowning and already half-dead that sobs because Azriel _knows_. She knows he knows. Not that some stupid argument passed and ruined her Christmas. But that many somethings have happened over time. Somethings that haven’t gone away, simply built and piled on top of one another until the beginning was so lost, only the end remained.

So when Az looks at her, his heart written in blood and knowing across his eyes, Mor knows he’s asking for the beginning that got lost. The story no one ever dares ask her for.

And it forces the tears to fall from her eyes.

That’s the only time she cries. When the truth is so stark and bare before her, she has nowhere else to look.

“My father died and I just...” she shakes her head quietly, trying to stem the flow that falls freely down her cheeks, guide it into a gentle spray across the fields rather than a turbulent storm upon the sea. “I never recovered. It’s so fucked up.”

Mor’s knees dig into her chest. She wasn’t even aware of the moment she’d wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her legs inward.

“He’s still your father,” Az offers. “You are allowed to mourn... whatever pieces you feel are missing.”

He is the first one not to doubt what she’s saying. Not to belittle her insides with grief that is nothing more than simple sadness. To acknowledge that her pain is something more than the simple absence of a single someone, but the absence of everyone.

She breaks.

“No one’s there anymore, Az,” Mor says, the words broken between her sobs. He doesn’t move. Only watches while she pours our her grief. The way he looks at her, she feels like she can hear his heart breaking too, maybe not for the first time. “My father d-died... Rhys lives on the other side of the world it feels like sometimes. Vi-vi-viane moved. She says I can text her. Everyone says I can text, but I’m so t-tired of stupid texts. I want - I want -”

_FUCK._

_Not this again. Not this._

“What do you want, Mor?”

“I want to not be here anymore! I want to not feel things I don’t want to feel! I want... ah, shit - _fuck!_ I don’t know what I want anymore, just not... not this.” Someone and not someone. Anyone. Her hand flails trying to explain herself.

“Because you’re alone.”

Mor rests her chin on her knees. She can’t look at him anymore. “Yes.”

She doesn’t expect him to carry on, but he does.

“And it feels cold.”

“Yes.”

“When I burned my hands, people kept telling me to talk about it if I needed to. So I did, but no one listened.” Mor sniffs and looks up from under her lashes, desperation pounding in her veins. “So I started telling people that... it hurt. That _I_ hurt. And everyone told me that - _hey, if you need to talk about it, let me know, yeah?_ And all I kept thinking was... but I just did?”

_Yes! That’s - that’s exactly what they say_ , Mor thinks. She wipes away some of the tears staining her cheek, knowing others will likely soon take their place.

“So one day I just stopped talking. No one really understood anyway. Is that... is that what you’ve been feeling?”

It’s a moment of holding her gaze that draws Mor to hold her head a little higher and feel the complete silence of the rooftop before she answers. “Yes.”

“How long?”

“Five years.”

A low whistle sings out of Az’s lips.

“Not... not all that time, I guess.” Mor reaches down, feels the small bits of rubble against the roof and smashes them between her fingers, brow furrowing. “It wasn’t always so bad. At first I was just... sad. And sad people aren’t ‘depressed.’“

A snort interrupts her. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Something inside her wants to smile at that, but can’t.

“By the time I realized I missed my dad - or, missed what I wanted him to be, grief was like a, like a poor way of describing how I felt. And when I caught up to the depression, I was already knocking on the next door not knowing nothing was on the other side of it. And I don’t...” One of the small sandy pieces pinches between her fingers. Mor leans into the burn there. “I don’t really honestly know how I got this bad.”

The questions plagues her often. How did she end up here? _Why_ did she end up here? Someone died. People die every day. The person who died wasn’t even someone she liked very much. She’s better off without him. But somewhere along the way, enough people didn’t see her and Mor was lost.

“I’m sorry... for-”

“Don’t,” Az says, stopping her sharply. “Don’t you dare apologize. For any of it.”

Mor swallows, relief fluttering inside. “I was only going to say that I was sorry,” _sniffs_ , “about your hands.” This time, Az knows that _she_ knows she’s not talking about just his hands. “What did you do? When it happened. Did you find someone?”

Az breaks away and looks at the rough and bruised lines running along the veins and notches between his fingers and forearms. They flex stiffly once. It makes Mor wonder how much he still remembers. Of the burning. Of the pain. Of the absence.

“Yes and no. Mostly a string of empty promises to listen that never cashed in. And people who said they’d be there and they were... on the other end of a telephone or email.” They both wind up sighing, a small humorous admission of mutual recognition. “Is there _anyone_ who’s there?”

Mor rolls her eyes as she begrudgingly wipes away another tear she hates and unfolds her legs to sit back properly against the railing as Az does. But doing so immediately makes her feel stupid. “Yes and no,” she says pointedly, echoing his own reply as she scoots closer to where he sits, bridges the gulf between them.

“I already know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway,” Az says, seemingly unfazed by how close they’re now sitting, for which Mor is glad. “Viviane?”

“She moved. And now she’s too busy to really take the time out. And I wouldn’t change that for anything. Her life is busy and crazy and exactly how it should be.”

_Exactly how mine should be_.

“Cassian?”

Mor cringes, equal parts shame and frustration. “No. I thought... maybe. Once. But I’ve never been close enough to really ask. Besides, Cassian is too... too-”

“Happy?”

“Yes!” Mor gapes openly, earning a smirk from her friend.

Friend. Azriel is definitely her friend.

“How did you know that was what I was going to say?”

Az shrugs. “Lucky guess?” Mor tries hard not to roll her eyes. “The only reason I can tell Cassian things is because he was around when _it_ ,” and he holds up his hands, “happened. He knows too much. But otherwise, he’s so damn upbeat, you sort of hate to ruin the moment.”

That’s exactly how it feels to be around Cassian. Mor only knows him so well because of Rhys. The same goes for Azriel, technically, even if they are neighbors. But with Cassian, she hates that there is that much happiness orbiting so near her universe that she would spoil it with tears and sorrow as often as she would need to. And using people up for all they’re worth has never been her style.

“Rhys?”

Mor feels a knife cut across her skin. Would this be what it’s like to fall? To swallow? To cut? To shoot? To crash? She lays her head against Az’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes - but no,” she says. The tears that follow are much quieter than the ones before, though just as grieved. “I think Rhys of all people would understand and actually care enough to _want_ to listen. Not do it out of some moral obligation to ‘be there’ or whatever.”

“But?”

“But he works across the country. And I... _ugh_ , it’s so stupid, but it means less when that person isn’t actually here... ya know?”

She can feel Az nodding from the way the muscles in his shoulders flex underneath her chin. “It’s stupid when they say all you need is a hug until you realize sometimes that’s true.”

“I miss him.” And just like that, Az wraps his arm around her shoulder and it’s enough. _Fuck if it isn’t enough for once_. “I miss him so much.”

“Rhys? Or your dad?”

“Both? It’s just, no matter which way I look, someone is always missing.”

“No significant other? No friends in town?”

Disgusting as she feels to do it, Mor drags the length of her sleeve up around her wrist and wipes the snot running from her nose. She feels congested, like her body is just as sick as her mind.

“I haven’t dated in six, maybe seven years? I don’t know, I lost count. And everyone else has moved on or has seven thousand children to take to soccer practice, no one gets it when I say I’m lonely. They only tell me I’m not trying hard enough.”

Az’s grip where he holds her arm tightens and then immediately slackens as if knowing what he’s done. “Bullshit,” he spits. “As if you can control everyone around you.”

“I can’t,” Mor wheezes, amused and intrigued by the level of venom coming from her usually quiet neighbor. It makes her want to know more, to _understand_ him properly just as she longs to be understood herself.

Az sighs. “So... what do you want to do?”

Mor shakes her head and looks up at him. There’s a little curl that falls right above his right eye. “That’s too big a question. I can’t answer that.”

He nods, glances to the side considering, and comes back with, “Do you always come up here when you feel this way?”

“No. Mostly I just... keep doing whatever I’m doing. Tonight was an... unusual exception, but most of the time I’m busy. I feel this way a - a lot, so I can’t always just run to the nearest rooftop and imagine what it’d be like to fling myself off it.”

Az cringes at what she suspects is the too casual mention of her offing herself, but doesn’t say anything. Because he knows.

_Because he knows_.

“Driving. That’s when it hits me hardest. The rest of the time I just sit and do nothing. It’s all I can do.”

“Will you promise me something?” Mor inclines her brows. “The next time you feel that way - like you want to die, or - screw that. All the times. Will you tell me? You don’t have to explain, just tell me. I don’t care if you don’t have a plan or if you’re not going to do anything about it. Just tell me and I’ll find you.”

Exhausted does not begin to cover how tired Mor is of crying. All she ever does is cry, it seems. But hearing Az ask this of her breaks something new inside her all over again. Something good and bad and broken all at the same time.

“I can’t promise you that. It’s too much. It’s too much. it’s too-”

“Hey, hey,” he says, his hand reaching up to cup her face and dry the tears. “Stop, it’s fine. I get it. Sometimes the last thing in the world I want to do is grab my phone to call someone even when I want that someone more than anything. What if - can I check on you? Would you let me do that?”

Mor’s eyes fall shut as she breaks against his chest because she _can’t_. She can’t take this risk. How many times has someone said she can count on them only for it to turn out she couldn’t? But never once has someone offered to just do the work for her as Az is now. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe - 

_No, fuck. It won’t be different. What is she even doing up here?_

Up here with Rhys’s friend she barely knows despite living one door down for over a year. She and Az have always been friendly, but he’s too quiet and she’s too fucked up that neither of them ever really, truly got past ‘hello’ until tonight.

“Okay, not that,” Az says, fingers running over her hair. Anxiety cripples her, worrying that he’s chickening out or panicking over what to do. “Just tell me what I can do. Anything? _Something_. Something so you’re not dealing with by yourself anymore?”

“Move in with me.”

The words are out of her mouth faster than she knows what to do with them and Mor is grateful she had her head buried in his chest when she blurted them. Maybe he won’t have heard her.

“You’re serious?”

_Shit - fuck. SHIT._

“I’m sorry,” Mor says, and again the tears renew with vigor. She pushes off his chest hard and stumbles, aiming for the door. Azriel is quickly on his feet behind her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I should never have-”

“Whoa - Morrigan.” Az catches her hand and stops her from reaching the door. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’ll do it.”

The lights in the city have begun winking out into non-existence. The traffic no longer heavy enough to be heard every which way. It’s late. And Azriel is standing on the rooftop of their apartment agreeing to her absurd, insane, fucked up, impulsive, crazy-

“Mor? Mor!” He shakes her back awake.

_He sees my unhinged_ , she thinks, even if that doesn’t quite make sense.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” she says, blustering around for the words. “It was a stupid idea. I can’t put all of that on you. Not if you’re dealing with your own shit.” She panics again and slaps a hand across her brow. “ _Especially_ if you’re dealing with your own shit.”

And Azriel actually affords her a small chuckle.

“I have been to hell. I’ve seen it. I can’t say that I know what it is to want to die, but...” Mor blinks up at him, waiting, trying hard not to let go of the hope that’s settled in her stomach. “I’ve stood on my own rooftops. I stared down the barrels of my own guns. I’ve counted pills and therapists and friends until they’d stopped working. And if I could go back and do it all over again, I would have just screamed from the top of my lungs the very first day until someone heard me. So for now... your place or mine?”

Maybe Mor is crying again. Maybe she isn’t. The only sensation in her body she’s aware of before Az catches her and guides her toward the stairs is the numbness in her shoulders as they give out and the weight in her chest that lifts slightly. _Slightly_.

Because it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

But when Az tucks her into bed and calls, “Goodnight,” from her couch, she thinks that maybe it isn’t all over. She still feels that crawling tug of death in the back of her skull and wonders if that will ever go away. But if she can just get to sleep knowing there is someone nearby who will make sure she wakes up in the morning, the answer to that question might not be so important for now.

Who knows. Maybe one day she’ll be the one to wake him.

And so for now, Morrigan sleeps.

xx


	2. Drowning On Your Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor has a moment of weakness in the shower where she thinks everything is lost to her. Azriel steps in to talk her down and help her recover so she can get to the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is getting romantic AF when I said it was supposed to be platonic at the last chapter. I hope anyone reading this knows it's not meant to romanticize the serious issues happening. I just can't help but make these two fall for each other and this is exactly what I need in my own life right now, so here we are. Somehow I always end up back with these two.
> 
> *****Also major trigger warnings again for SUICIDE, SELF-HARM, + DEPRESSION.*****
> 
> And I like.... didn't edit this. At all. So.... good luck.

The tears are blinding. The heat of the water the only thing worse, making it difficult to even breathe properly. But without it, Mor would have collapsed.

In a haze, she had decided she gave up. Rushing into the bathroom adjacent her room, Mor had flung her clothes off madly and turned the water on in the tub, pulling the little lever upwards until she heard the soothing sound of water dripping over the tiles where it would mask her chatter.

The tears had puddled over face before she’d even managed to pull the curtain closed. She didn’t look at herself in the mirror, but she knows exactly what she would have seen if she’d looked: red eyes, pale skin, and death stamped across her lips.

Now she sits. And she waits for the end to come.

Every time Mor escapes to the confines of her bathroom to let the emotions out, she is struck by how simultaneously hot and cold she becomes. Where the water pours over her kissing her with a hiss of cruel, soothing steam, the air along her exposed flesh chills and shivers. She can never get quite fully covered up enough to feel complete.

Why she even feels the need to hide in the shower is beyond her. She’s only had a roommate for little over a month and he lives across from her on the other side of the apartment. It’s not like he’d notice if she kept the tears silent.

Mor shakes herself off, gripping her arms where she’s locked them in placed banded around her knees. Goosebumps breakout on her skin.

_ No _ , she tries hard to think, to convince herself.  _ Az would notice... _

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Does anyone ever notice?

Stupid. She was so stupid to think that having a roommate would fix this mess she’d become inside herself. No one ever did. Her life was a constant stream of the wrong people asking the wrong questions and giving the wrong responses to her cries and pitiful moans. And now Az would be no different. Why had she even asked him to move in with her?

_ Because you didn’t want to be alone _ .

The answer comes easily to Mor, as does the followup.

_ But you are alone. Always, always alone _ .

Her sobs break out anew and she leans her head against the tiles nearest her feeling the chill against her brow, savoring and hating it both. At least it’s something to feel - the cold, the heat, the water. Mor can’t remember the last time she felt touched by something or someone… anything really. Maybe she’s too empty inside. Maybe that’s why no one touches her anymore. She spent so long shoving people off for fear she’d get hurt that it’s only she realizes how foolish it was of her.

And now it’s too late.

No one is there. No one is ever coming. And what’s the point? To be alone forever. Possibly the only thing that terrifies Mor beyond being with someone in any capacity is the idea that she never  _ will be _ again. But every time she tries… ashes.

Her head tips forward, the steam making her head so heavy. She shouldn’t have turned the water up so hot, but Mor had needed it for the release. Is this self harm? The public awareness campaigns her friends tweet about casually are always all needles and razors, never something as simple as a hot shower. It’s peaceful and wrong at the same time.

And it helps the tears fall quicker.

Every few minutes when her head starts to gather space to breathe or relax even a little bit, the depression swallows her back up, forces the thought process that drug her there to repeat itself until she feels the pain again.

It’s awful. Mor wants it to stop. But it never stops. And it never will.

Forever.

That’s what her life will be. Forever sitting in showers and sobbing into pillows with this terrible hole inside her heart aching for something missing. Mor gasps, a sob choking out of her in a fresh wave. She can barely move. Barely even think…

_ Tap, tap _ .

Mor’s toes curl against the tub, her toe nails polished a perfect shade of red, but underneath the beads of water gathered there, the color looks cracked. Inside, she feels suddenly frozen with fear.

_ Tap, tap _ .

Mor hears the bathroom door unclick, but the familiar creek of it opening doesn’t follow. What does, is only him.

_ “Morrigan?” _

Az’s voice is a mixture of soft concern. Mor can’t help but exhale in relief when she hears the sound even if it means one of her worst nightmares and most desperate dreams is happening all at once.

“Mor…” Az clears his throat, but there’s an urgency to his voice that suggests he’s on mission. And maybe feels uncomfortable too. A pit forms in Mor’s stomach. “Mor, if you’re in there… and you’re okay, I need to know.”

Silence. That’s her answer. She’s not okay, not by a long shot. But she also knows that’s not what Az is talking about. But she can’t tell him that. She doesn’t even know how to begin.

“Morrigan,” and this time his voice is more firm. “I  _ need _ you to tell me - to do something to let me know you’re in there and not… in trouble.” Mor sucks in her lips. This is exactly what she wants. What’s she’s always wanted. Oh fuck - has she really become the stereotype? The person everyone criticizes as just attention seeking and pathetic?

No - she’s not. If she were, then the attention Az brings would wash away the pain, make the hole in her heart seal up because it wouldn’t really have been there in the first place. Yet it is. And someone is actually taking the trouble to do something about it for once. Suddenly, Mor is desperate.

_ Talk. Say something. Anything! Fucking use your voice, you idiot- _

“Mor, I’m gonna open the door - just an inch. So I can see. Shake the curtain if you’re okay - if you’re not in danger.” There’s a pause, the briefest of creeks as the door hinges whine at opening up against the moisture drenched room, and Mor thinks she hears Az swear under his breath. “ _ Please _ , Morrigan.”

Her hand flies out randomly at her side and swats the shower curtain into life in one hard thwack before falling dull against the floor of the tub.

“Good,” she hears Az say, no discernable tone. “Can I come in? I won’t look. But I want to sit with you.”

Her fingers hesitate the briefest of moments before reaching up and tugging on the material. Moments later, she both sees and feels Az’s weight settle on the other side of the tub, separated from her only by that thin plastic sheet and the pounding of water that beats relentlessly against her. Her fingertips have shriveled to prunes.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Az begins. “Not unless you don’t want to.” A new set of tears falls because - yes, Mor wants to. She wants to tell him everything.  _ How the fuck is she supposed to start though? _ “But we need to get you out of the shower. You’ve been in here for forty minutes.”

Fuck.

Maybe it was a mistake having Az move in. No one ever monitored her shower time before.

That’s the difference. Mor’s head, still resting against her arm and knees, turns to the side to stare at Az’s shadowed figure against the curtain. The way the light hits his form, he looks so much bigger than he really is. Like he is everywhere for her, consuming the darkness in the room so that she’s left with only her light.

_ We _ .

He said  _ ‘we’ _ . Not  _ you _ , but  _ we _ . It breaks her heart into pieces. If she weren’t so near to being dead inside, she’d want to grab his hand and never let go.

She can’t touch him. The reminder is painful. Her life is void of that, her brain reminds her dutifully. She’s too cold for any kind of warmth so good and whole as that. Az’s hands are mottled anyway. He probably wouldn’t want to let her touch him like that. He’s kept them as out of sight as he can since that night on the roof when he revealed how his past made him feel.

_ He understands… _ A small voice in the back of her brain begs her to listen.  _ Trust him… _

“I can’t move,” Mor says, but it’s a mere croak of what her voice really is.

“One thing at a time.” His reply is immediately there. “I’ll stay with you as long as you’re comfortable. As long as it takes. What do you think you could do?”

He doesn’t seem to expect an immediate answer as she thinks. What  _ can _ Mor do? She hit the curtain… and promptly let her hand drop. And she managed to speak three words that were more than gasps and sobs choked out between tears.

Something. Mor can do something.

But as soon as she lifts her head and sees the next five minutes ahead of, it all cracks. It’s too much. Too, too much.

“I can’t-”

“ _ Yes _ , you can. I’m here.” And there, just visible at the end of the curtain where a small gap exists leading to the outside world, Az rests two fingers on the rim of the tub. Mor cries. And then, she touches him. One lone finger connecting with his, tracing lines over his skin where the scars have stained him with history and blood. They feel smooth and clean now against Mor’s fingertip, the exact way she wants to feel. After a few careful moments of exploring, Az lifts a finger and meets her in the air. The entire world seems to stop, except…

Mor’s feet slide out from under her, gently and slowly, the muscles relaxing. Fresh heat hits her stomach and thighs from where it had been blocked before having her knees up.

“Do you think you could shut the water off?” Az asks. Mor’s hand falls away to reach for the faucet, but when she looks it’s so far. And she feels weighed down by bricks and mud. “Any way you can.”

For a moment, she’s angry. He made her think they were in this  _ together _ . Why can’t  _ he _ just reach in and stop the water from flowing over and drowning her?

Because then she’d get nowhere in the end. Her head knows it. And her heart knows it too. He’s trying to  _ help _ her.

_ We. _

_ Us. _

It’s all she wants. And slowly, Mor finds her leg lifting and toes just making it to the edge of the faucet where the little stem that controls the flow of water rests. She pushes down and the shower cuts off replaced by silence. Mor’s entire body is immediately cold. Outside, she hears Az exhale gently.

He lets her sit quietly for a moment, before.... “You need to stand next.” Mor’s groan is audible. “I know it’s a lot,” Az adds on quickly. “One thing at a time - remember that. What can you do first?”

Mor stares up at a ceiling that feels miles and miles away. There’s no possibility she’s pulling herself up. That’s way too much effort. She’ll have to roll over. Push herself up maybe? It takes her several minutes, but with Az guiding her through each step - first her legs, then her palms, then… - she’s pushing herself upright, kneeling and eventually flat on her feet again. She grips the small arm rail to steady herself.

Az excuses himself to go find her pajamas and Mor wonders awkwardly while he’s gone if he’ll look for her underwear or not. She hopes not. She’d rather sleep without them than know he saw her pink and purple bunny panties she had sitting on top of all the good pairs in her drawer.

There’s a new light tapping at the door. “Mor? Did you dry off?”

Mor clears her throat, determined to find her voice. “No,” she says, a little groggy still, but… passable. Her hand reaches round the curtain searching for her towel at the same time Az enters and grabs it for her.

“Shit…” he breathes.

“Hmm?”

“Dry off. I’m going to leave your clothes on the toilet. I’ll be outside the door, okay?”

He leaves before she can reply. Or so it sounds like. Peeking around the curtain, Az really is gone. Mor is alone again. For once, though, her curiosity at what had him so confounded trumps the depression gnawing at her heart. She dries off and dresses quickly, and when she opens the door, Az is right there sitting on the edge of her bed waiting.

His face is drawn. His clothes are loose - a simple shirt and pair of bottoms to sleep in probably. And his hair is all mussed up, like he’d already dozed off an hour or two on it. Mor suddenly realizes she has no idea what time it is.

“Az?”

Her room is dark, but she can see her roommate - her friend - staring at her with an expression she can’t quite read. She’s too tired to ask what it is.

Az watches her carefully, waiting for her to go on. He’d give her the world right now if he could to make it better, she thinks. She sees it in his eyes. He knows the pain. Pain he probably never wanted to see or feel again and now he’s feeling it - because of  _ her _ . And he wants it to be better and neither of them knows how.

But they don’t know how  _ together _ . And whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing or just a sad, miserable thing, Mor is grateful for it. To not be alone. Just this one night.

“Thank you,” she breathes. Az’s lips twitch slightly before he bows his head.

“Anytime.”

* * *

In the morning, Az is gone before Mor is even awake, having to be to work early. But her door is open when she sits up in bed, left open slightly ajar where she had closed it after Az left her room the night before. He must have checked on her at some point.

Huh.

Mor gets out to work and drains herself, enjoying the distraction having something to do provides and hating that she still wishes she didn’t have to be there to do it in the first place. By the time she’s sliding her keys into the front door of the apartment, she’s exhausted. And then, just like that, the door is breezing open and Azriel is jumping up from the couch, his baseball game forgotten, and walking swiftly toward her.

He freezes a few steps away, the pair of them hesitating. Mor wishes… she wishes she could touch him somehow. And as if Azriel has heard her thoughts, his beautiful, scarred hands twitch, palms open. His eyes ask a question.

Mor drops her keys to the floor where they clatter and clank, and sinks into his embrace. His arms band around her and for a long while it’s just silence between them. A wonderful, glorious silence. And everything is okay.

_ Cedar _ , she thinks.  _ He smells like cedar. The forest on a dark, cold night _ . She takes a deep breath of it in and her lungs relax.

What she would have given just for a hug like this every day of her life for the past several  _ years _ .

“Azriel?”

His chest rises. She feels it move against her and her heart follows the pattern. “Mmm?” he mumbles.

“Why did you run away last night? When you handed me my towel?”

His chest falls - collapses she thinks. Maybe his heart is breaking too much to keep it afloat anymore for all the pain she feels flooding into the way he holds her. “Your skin was so red. You looked…”

“What? What did I look?”

“You looked like my hands. Different, of course, but just as… hurt. And it scared me.”

A small tear escapes her. This one, a happier one. They are the same, him and her. Mor pulls her head back enough to look up Azriel. His hazel eyes are soft. “I made tea,” he offers.

“Iced?”

“Always.”

Mor offers him a smile that she finds quickly returned. Az takes her hand and leads her inside the apartment where they sit and enjoy an evening eating and drinking.

Together.


End file.
